


Take me out to the black, tell them I ain't coming back

by Jadzia_Bear



Category: Firefly, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Setting, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, remember kaylee's big pink dress?, yeah this is about as fluffy as that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14569710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia_Bear/pseuds/Jadzia_Bear
Summary: Daryl is suspicious of their long-haired stowaway, at least in the beginning.Firefly AU, but you can get by without being familiar with the show.





	Take me out to the black, tell them I ain't coming back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanonCannon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/gifts).



> If you’re not familiar with Firefly, it’s a cult favourite about a small crew getting by on a smuggling ship in a dystopian future where humans have spread out across the galaxy. While some planets are well-off, many others aren’t and are reminiscent of frontier life. Their ship is a Firefly-class freighter called Serenity. It’s small, with homely touches like old mismatched couches and flowers painted on one of the walls by the young female mechanic.
> 
> I love this show for so many reasons, not the least of which is its array of interesting female characters. I chose this as an AU setting for the Desus sci-fi challenge because I felt that the slight western tinge to some of the characters and scenes lent itself well to the way Daryl speaks. Plus I can never leave this ‘verse alone for long ;)
> 
> One more thing: ‘gorramn’ is future-speak in this show for goddamn

Daryl blinks his eyes against the grit in the air and the glaring midday sun of this shitty backwater planet. The locals of Eavesdown Docks give them a wide berth but continue about their business, hardly batting an eye at the altercation playing out on the cargo ramp of an old Firefly-class transport that’s seen better days.

Daryl keeps his revolver trained on the piece of shit they just caught trying to stow away on their little smuggling ship.

Rick stands at his shoulder, pistol aimed in the same direction as he contemplates the asshole— ‘Jesus’ or some shit—and the sob story he just fed them.

“What do you think?” Rick asks Daryl.

 “I don’t trust him, Cap’n,” Daryl replies without hesitation. “Too pretty.”

Ain’t no way the ‘verse would drop a perfect piece of ass like that right in Daryl’s lap without there being something nefarious afoot. With his long hair and big blue eyes, this Jesus guy is like a vision right out of one of Daryl’s dreams, and he wouldn’t put it past the Alliance to be monitoring every thought in his head.

Jesus has the gall to laugh, but at least he’s smart enough to keep his hands in the air.

“Thanks for the compliment,” he says, flashing a smile at Daryl, “but this pretty face is going to be dead in the dirt as soon as that Alliance operative comes around the corner, and if I had to guess, I’d say you’re no more a fan of the Alliance than I am.”

Rick deliberates for one more moment before holstering his pistol. “Get ‘im inside,” he tells Daryl. “Tie him up for now.”

Jesus grins with relief as Daryl manhandles him up the ramp and into the cargo hold.

“Li’l shit,” Daryl mutters. It doesn’t dull that grin in the slightest.

Rick slams the button to shut the doors behind them and hollers up the metal staircase to the cockpit above. “Tara, get us in the air **!”**

* * *

_3 months later_

Jesus lies in his bunk staring at the ceiling of his cosy little dorm. It’s not much more than a beige box, made more welcoming by a hand-knitted blanket on the bed and some trinkets on the shelf.

He rubs wearily at his eyes. It happens much less often these days, but every now and then his brain still taunts him with memories of the experiments the Alliance performed on him before he escaped, making sleep hard to come by.

He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. It must be somewhere past ship’s midnight by now, maybe 1am or so. He pulls on pants but doesn’t bother with a shirt before stepping out into the hallway. _Serenity_ is silent except for the comforting hum of her engines. He pads softly through the still, dark ship towards the galley on the upper deck.

He’d been so lucky to find this crew when he did. Most of the jobs they take are the right side of moral, even when they’re not the right side of legal, and his skills in pickpocketing and martial arts come in very handy in their line of work, so it suits Rick to keep him around. Not to mention the fact that they’re trying to avoid the Alliance just as much as he is, so it works out well on all fronts.

The part he never could have imagined was how quickly the small crew would come to feel like family. Rick’s right hand, Michonne, is a force to be reckoned with, but she’s level-headed and trustworthy. Siddiq the medic is a sweet and gentle soul, as is Enid the mechanic—in fact, Jesus suspects there’s something brewing there. He can sit in the co-pilot’s seat for hours shooting the shit with Tara, and Shepard Ezekiel, while quite a character, is a really decent guy underneath all the flowery bible verses.

And then there’s Daryl. His job is to be the muscle, and he plays the part well, but the longer Jesus knows him the more he’s come to realise that the tough guy persona is really just a shield, behind which is an ornery but deeply caring individual.

Yellow light pours from the entrance of the communal eating area, and when Jesus steps inside he finds he’s not the only one still awake on their little ship. His stomach flutters at the sight of Daryl, something it’s made a habit of doing for a good while now.

He’s quite a sight, bathed in the honeyed glow of the galley’s lighting. The lean muscles of his chest and arms are on display as he rests one hip against the counter and lifts a tin cup to his lips, sleep pants riding low on his hip bones. His skin is decorated with scars, some from recent altercations and some much, much older.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Daryl asks as he approaches.

Jesus trails his fingers along the back of one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the long wooden dining table. “Can’t sleep,” he says simply, with a rueful smile.

“I know that feelin’,” Daryl murmurs back. He fills a second tin cup with water from the faucet and slides it across the worn counter to Jesus without comment.

“Thanks.”

As he takes a sip he can feel Daryl’s eyes roaming over him. He pretends not to notice, hoping he’s being checked out.

It had taken a good month after Rick invited him to stay before Daryl had finally decided Jesus could be trusted. In the beginning, Daryl would eye him with open suspicion whenever their paths crossed. Now, the looks Daryl casts his way are much more subtle. Jesus thinks they’re more appreciative, too, but he’s still not entirely sure.

“How are you healing?” Jesus asks, nodding at a shallow knife wound on Daryl’s shoulder, held together by Siddiq’s neat stitches. He moves around to the same side of the counter as Daryl and leans his hip against it.

“Itches like crazy,” Daryl gripes. “Damn thing’s keepin’ me awake.”

“Sounds like you need a distraction,” Jesus comments, putting his cup down.

Daryl snorts. “Have to be a pretty gorramn big distraction.”

Jesus takes a breath, heart drumming on his ribs. Even if Daryl is attracted to him, that doesn’t automatically mean he wants to act on it, and even then, he has trouble picturing Daryl as the relationship type.

This could all be about to blow up in his face, but when you live this deep in the rough and tumble, there’s nothing to be gained by waiting around.

“How about this?” he asks. He leans in until his lips are barely an inch from Daryl’s.

He waits for a sock on the jaw.

When it doesn’t come, he closes the last fraction of distance between them and presses his lips to Daryl’s. He doesn’t deepen the kiss any, but he does let it linger. The skin of his entire body flushes with warmth from just that one point of contact.

Then he pulls back, because he desperately needs to know how Daryl’s taking this.

Daryl licks his bottom lip, shoulders hitching almost imperceptibly with quick, shallow breaths. “Yeah,” he rasps, “that’ll do it.”

Jesus can’t help but smile at that, then leans straight back in for another kiss. Now that he knows he’s not about to be forcibly removed from Daryl’s personal space, he allows himself to actually enjoy it.

Daryl’s chapped lips are just like the rest of him, rough and yet surprisingly gentle, too. Daryl kisses him back this time and Jesus has to tamp down a helpless moan because _Daryl Dixon_ is _kissing_ him. The feather-light rasp of Daryl’s stubble on his skin gives him sends delicious goosebumps running up his arms, and for a moment Jesus can’t fathom why he didn’t try this sooner. He puts a hand on Daryl’s bicep in an attempt to anchor himself in the tide of sensations, but the feeling of warm skin and taut muscle beneath his palm only sets off another wave.

Jesus flicks the tip of his tongue against Daryl’s lips and the way Daryl’s breath hitches makes him do it again. Daryl’s lips part for him and that’s when Jesus knows for sure that he’s hopelessly gone on this man, because in that moment he feels _honoured_ , honoured that Daryl would let him in like this, move his shield aside and make himself vulnerable for Jesus.

He works Daryl’s mouth open slowly, reverently, revelling in every inch of warmth Daryl exposes to him, and when Daryl decides it’s his turn, Jesus opens to him willingly, welcoming Daryl’s hot tongue into his mouth.

The skin of their bare chests brushes lightly against each other and Jesus’ whole body is set aflame by the sudden rush of so much skin on skin. Perhaps Daryl’s is too, the way he clutches at Jesus’ hips with both hands.

Jesus moans softly into Daryl’s mouth, wanting him to know that a bit of manhandling is definitely welcome. Daryl takes the hint and turns him just enough so he can press Jesus up against the counter. Jesus moans again, and this one is completely involuntary.

Daryl’s calloused palms slide over every part of his back and chest as their kisses grow decidedly messier. Jesus slips his hands into Daryl’s hair, fingers twitching every time a rough palm grazes his nipple.

He presses wet kisses along Daryl’s jaw and down his throat, loving the way it makes his breath hitch. It’s all hands and lips and skin and stubble for a while after that. It occurs to Jesus somewhere in the back of his mind that there’s nothing stopping another crew member walking in on them, but the best he can manage to deal with that issue is by keeping his hands out of Daryl’s pants.

Eventually, Daryl breaks off the kiss and pulls him in close, both of them breathing heavy. Jesus drinks in the delicious feeling of being connected from chest to thigh. They’re both shamelessly hard.

“So,” Daryl says between ragged breaths, “just how much of a distraction we talkin’ here?”

Jesus has to fight past the fog of lust clinging to his brain in order to process Daryl’s words. Merciful Buddha, please let this be the invitation he thinks it is.

“As much as you want,” Jesus murmurs against his ear.

The room is silent for a moment as Daryl considers his options. Jesus reminds himself that it won’t be the end of the world if Daryl doesn’t want to sleep with him tonight, and he tries really, really hard to believe it.

“Your bunk or mine?” Daryl growls.

“Yours is closer.”

Daryl grunts in agreement. He grabs Jesus by the hand and drags him out of the room. Jesus huffs a laugh and follows willingly.

* * *

_Another 3 months later_

Daryl finds his boyfriend sitting out on the cargo ramp, gazing upward.

It’s twilight. Only the very last of the sunset’s colours still cling to the horizon, the sky above deep violet and sprinkled with dewy stars. Crickets trill and the occasional cow lows over the dark, dusty plains.

Jesus looks over his shoulder at the sound of Daryl’s boots on the metal plating.

“Thought I might find you here.”

Jesus smiles. “Join me?”

“Some of us got work to do,” Daryl grumbles, but joins him anyway.

He sits down behind Jesus, legs bracketing his hips, and winds both arms around his middle. Jesus hums contentedly and leans back into the embrace.

“Y’know you can see stars anytime out the window when we’re in the black,” Daryl points out.

“Yeah, I know,” Jesus says, one thumb rubbing idly back and forth over the knuckles of Daryl’s hands, “but there’s something nicer about them from down here, something not quite so… cold.”

Daryl knows what he means. The stars are less ominous when they’re not a constant reminder that there’s only a thin sheet of metal between you and oblivion. He decides to keep the tone light, though.

“Anytime you want warmin’ up, I got some ideas,” he murmurs, brushing Jesus’ hair aside and dropping kisses on the side of his neck.

“Soon,” Jesus promises, a smile in his voice. “Just a few more minutes.”

And as Daryl sits there with his arms around his beautiful boyfriend, almost on the very spot he first pointed a gun at Jesus all those months ago, he allows himself to concede that, just this once, the universe really did drop the perfect man right into his lap.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you've seen Firefly, I hope this brought back some memories for you. If you haven't, you totally need to check it out ;)


End file.
